A Study In PostTraumatic Loneliness
by VickyQ
Summary: Every morning, Roy does the same thing. Get up, stand on-duty, go to town, come home. With a little discreet help from a certain blonde that knows just how much the Flame misses him. A bit too well actually... Will a replacement come along? WIP


There was a time I believed he would return. But that was all just a loosely fabricated dream. A silly fantasy that I made up in the very back of my brain. A Lie. That evolved from thinking for even an instant, for even a fraction of a second, that he still cared about me. He's on the other side, in a strange place where there are bigger and better things for him. A completely blank slate. He can start over. He's forgotten about me. I know he has. I was nothing to him. Well, something. But not what I wanted to be.

I don't even know what I wanted to be.

Today, like most mornings, I wake up, stare at what's left of the fire, eat something, and walk outside. It's freezing, and I'm wearing nothing but towel around my waist, and another around my shoulders, but for a good reason. There is a large lake hidden past the pine trees, about 20 yards from my cabin in the Northern Outpost. It's crisp, blue, and crystal clear. No fish, no creepy crawlies, no bacteria or anything like that. Just me, alone with my thoughts in the warm, fresh, water, and the morning sun, peeking over the horizon. Probably trying to catch a glimpse of me, but to no avail. I'm clean, dry and back into my cabin before it's fully morning. I feel like someone is watching me, but I'm just a paranoid type of guy, so I brush it off. I put on my light under clothes, I get dressed into my heavy clothes, and under my overcoat, just below my light jacket, I place my pistol into it's holster, just in case. I grasp my usual rifle to bring outside, to my post. I reach for the door, when I get an eerie feeling, like someone is whispering to me, but I can't figure out who. I'm standing, bewildered, for about ten minutes at the thought that anybody would be way out here, so much so that I wasn't focusing on what was being said. Suddenly, my keys drop from the side table next to the door, onto my shoe. I'd almost forgotten. Maybe that was it. I reach to pick them up, I feel warm. Then I finally hear something clearly,

"Be Safe."

Every time I turn around, and every time, there is nothing there.

I have driven myself crazy. I place the keys into my coat pocket, and lock the door on my way out.

And I stand. I stand ten paces from my door with my rifle at my side.

For hours.

Until the sun is at the tip of it's height in the sky.

Then I'm officially on break.

I shake the snow off of my coat and head. I bury my rifle in the snow. And I make my way into the town a few hundred yards through the forest. It's dangerous in there, which is why I have my pistol. I bet you're wondering why I didn't just bring the rifle. Well, it's got limited ammo. and it's too expensive to waste. Pistol ammo is cheap. What about my flame alchemy you ask? Newsflash, it's snowing. Everywhere. All the time. Snow=Water. I think you can piece it up from there.

I start to hear rustling in the bushes, so I palm the holster of my gun, ready for any impending doom. And like a knife through the liver, I get a quick, sharp, stinging pain in my side. Instantly, I drop to my knees and cringe in pain. Something whooshes just over my head. I look in the direction it lands, and I'm greeted with the sight of a vicious Puma, just aching for me to slip up and give her an opening to utterly destroy me. I slowly pull my gun from it's leather confinement, and the overly frightening cat pulls back, preparing to pounce. It's tail completely still, as if trying not to reveal to me her presence. As I swiftly pull my pistol out and aim, I hesitate. Why isn't it trying to kill me? Something behind it catches my eye. Well, I'm an idiot. A cub. An innocent little cub, can't be more than a month old. I stand up. The Puma does nothing. I take a few steps backward. It remains in place. I keep walking back for about 30 seconds. She turns around and walks away with her cub. Just a concerned mother protecting her baby. I think about if I would be as protective if I had a child, and think to myself, "Why not?" Every few weeks or so, someone from one of the towns drops a baby on my doorstep, thinking that just because they can't take care of it, the military will. Stupid hicks. The outpost is not an orphanage dammit. I'd like one though, the cabin is sort of lonely. If he was there, it would be much more lively, but I guess some poor hillbilly's unwanted spawn is the next best thing. I make my way into town on this thought.

That sixth sense feeling is picking up again.

That whisper. It's haunting.

Almost mocking.

But not quite.

I don't know.

I stop by a women's store, and pick up fabrics, scissors, and needles, stuff of the sewing nature. It takes about 10 minutes, and i get some stares, but i have a feeling they could come in handy. After my usual trip to the market for food, coffee, candles, toiletries, and stationary for my monthly reports, I head back home, confidant that nothing unpleasant will happen on my way there. All the while, I'm secretly hoping that I'll find another crying basket at my door. But I arrive, ears at pique sensitivity. Nothing. I'm surprised at how disappointed I was. I place the food in the cupboards over the sink and stove, and i toss the bag with the fabrics and supplies of the like into the corner, next to my favorite chair. I start the fire with a snap of my fingers, grateful of the dryness of my cozy cabin. While I boil myself a pot of coffee, I sit at my desk, writing another letter that he will never read.

* * *

**I was attacked by a Puma today. She was angry at me for getting between her and her cub.**

**I was scared, but I understand her reasoning, I felt like I would be the same if I had a child.**

**Which led me to think that I should finally take in one of the children that get left to me on occasion.**

**I do like children, I guess I was always just afraid that I would get too attached,**

**and wouldn't know how to handle it if something happened.**

**Not just a milestone, like puberty, or even an accident.**

**Just _anything._ I would have no idea what to do with a kid.**

**How to punish it, how to praise it..**

**I'm confused, but anything to dull the pain of you leaving..**

**I'm still crushed.**

**But I know you've moved on to a better place.**

**I miss you. I really do.**

**I don't even know what to do with myself anymore.**

**I should end this before I spill too much.**

**Sincerely,**

** Gen. Roy Mustang**

** Northern Outpost #B85EB

* * *

**

I neatly fold the letter into thirds,

place it into an envelope,

and chuck it into the fire.

No need to mail it.

Not like it would arrive, or even be read.

The kettle starts whistling, and I know that the coffee is hot and ready.

I pour a cup, chug it where I stand, then pour myself another. I'll be pulling an all-nighter. I just have this gut feeling..


End file.
